


björn

by bucketfulloffandom



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, M/M, mentions of vincent's damn poetry, nathan: a shit, rated for language, they mention adam like Once because of course they do, two bros chilling on a bed no feet apart cause they are gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 19:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13794519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketfulloffandom/pseuds/bucketfulloffandom
Summary: And so it's another night to write about when it's 11 PM and his diary sits patiently on his bedside table.





	björn

**Author's Note:**

> y'all are turning me into a damn menace i can't stop writing figure skating rpf because you guys keep encouraging me to. it's been all of ONE DAY since i posted my last fic what the damn hell you guys
> 
> thIS was written in one sitting and there's absolutely no purpose to it i just wanted to write my boys bantering and being Good. they're Good. i am the captain of the nathan/vincent ship now
> 
> as per usual kudos+comments fuel me and are greatly appreciated!! thanks 4 my life, perusers of the figure skating rpf tag on ao3

“You’re so fake-deep,” Nathan tells him.

They’re lying on Vincent’s hotel bed, legs crossing over one another’s. It is late. Tomorrow is the exhibition gala; today was the usual cocktail of accomplishment and dissatisfaction. Nathan is flipping through Vincent’s diary, humming to himself.

Vincent looks sharply at him. “Excuse me?”

The smile on Nathan’s face is somewhere between shit-eating and playful. “You read like a Rupi Kaur poem without the social commentary and with ten times as many adjectives. So nothing like a Rupi Kaur poem really. I just couldn’t think of another poet off the top of my head.”

“And you read like an asshole,” Vincent grumbles back. Nathan just giggles in that stupidly breathtaking way of his. “Jerk.”

“You know I’m kidding.” Nathan nudges him with his elbow. “C’mon, Vince. I love your poetry.”

Vincent huffs, “You’re just saying that so I’ll share my cookies with you.”

“Aw fuck, you’ve seen right through me.” Nathan grins, smug, when Vincent rolls his eyes at him.

“I don’t know why I like you,” Vincent muses out loud, “seeing as you are a vapid heathen who has no appreciation for the intellectual.”

The bed creaks as Nathan rolls over, effectively squashing Vincent underneath him. Vincent squawks in protest. Nathan’s giggling again, eyes thin crescents as he pins Vincent to the mattress with his knees. “It’s because I’m beautiful,” he declares.

“Good god, and he’s vain,” Vincent bemoans. “Lord, save me.”

“Oh no,” Nathan says in an imitation of Vincent’s lamenting tone, “I, an Olympic athlete, am dating an Olympic athlete with the audacity to know he’s good looking. Vincent, do you know how many people call me gorgeous on the internet everyday?”

“Yeah, I check your Twitter search on a regular basis.”

Nathan pauses. “Do you really?”

“No, Nathan, I do not.” Vincent sticks his tongue out at Nathan’s exaggerated disappointment. “I do, however, check my Twitter search daily, and it’s much better than yours. Get more fans who can appreciate a good meme, man.”

“You’re the worst,” Nathan concludes. He flops back down onto the bed next to Vincent, blowing his curls out of his eyes.

(That’s a thing, again, Vincent likes to remind himself every once in a while, to remember good things still exist in this world.)

“Yeah, I’m the worst and you, an Olympic athlete, are dating me,” Vincent points out. “So who’s the real loser here?”

After a moment of thought, Nathan responds, “Adam, I think. He’s still single.”

“Poor Dad,” Vincent sighs, delighting in the amused snort he gets in response from his boyfriend.

That has to be the craziest thing, Vincent thinks. Of everything he’s done in his life - and there has been a lot in just 17 short years - this is the one he finds the least believable. His _boyfriend._ _Nathan Chen_ , his _boyfriend_. _Secret_ boyfriend, on top of it all.

There’s something funny about that: he’s in Italy competing in figure skating on an international level, and he’s 17 years old, and he writes poetry in his free time, and his family doesn’t know he likes boys, and he’s dating teenage American heartthrob Nathan Chen.

_Fucking wild, man_.

Nathan seems to notice when he’s started to slip into thought, frowning and prodding him gently. “Earth to Vincent, hello?”

“Mm, that’s me,” Vincent mumbles. He has the sudden and irresistible urge to curl into the warmth Nathan is emitting and sleep for five years. Nathan is warm and solid, grounding when Vincent tends to float. He appreciates that. “I appreciate that.”

Nathan starts to speak, like he’s going to ask what Vincent’s referring to, but Vincent folds his hands over his bicep as he presses closer, eyes shut, and the words die in his throat. Vincent can feel the muscles in his arm flex, all uncertainty, before Nathan reaches around and tugs him impossibly closer.

“I appreciate you,” he says quietly. Vincent opens one eye to look at him. “For being here.”

“You too,” Vincent murmurs. Nathan hums again, content. “Now go to sleep.”

“That’s very romantic, Vincent, good job.”

“Oh my god, be quiet.”

Nathan drums his fingertips against Vincent’s shoulder, but complies. Vincent listens to his breathing, slow and even, in the silence, and decides that if there was ever a way to bottle a moment in space and time and keep it forever, he would save this scene right here and now.

As it is, however, the seconds are uncollectible, slipping through Vincent’s fingers as they hurtle through space.

So Vincent shuts his eyes, breathes in deep, and commits this instant to his memory, and revels in it.

An ornate journal entry later will have to do.

**Author's Note:**

> the secret is i only write from vincent's perspective and just channel my own giant crush on nathan


End file.
